


feather-light

by poisonrationalitie



Series: Harry Potter Expanded Universe [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Charms Class (Harry Potter), F/F, Female Friendship, Femslash February, First Crush, Friendship/Love, Hogwarts First Year, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29322900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonrationalitie/pseuds/poisonrationalitie
Summary: Tracey and Daphne are learning how to do their first spell.
Relationships: Tracey Davis/Daphne Greengrass
Series: Harry Potter Expanded Universe [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1052105
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	feather-light

**Author's Note:**

> For Femslash February Day 4 - Feather.

Tracey followed Daphne into the classroom and took the seat beside her, as had become their custom in the first few weeks of school. It had seemed a choice between Daphne or Pansy in who to follow, and Daphne was undoubtedly the better pick. She was nicer than Pansy, and didn’t hang around Malfoy so much, which was an instant victory. So far, Malfoy had proved himself a spoiled, whingy brat who talked of nothing but his family and his broomstick and Harry Potter. Tracey had nearly told him to shut up a few times, but she didn’t want to cause any trouble for Daph. If Crabbe or Goyle kept acting like pricks, though, she had no qualms about telling them to knock it off. A pecking order had been quickly established amongst the first years, and Tracey, in spite of being a half-blood, had gotten herself in above those two idiots. Not that that was saying much.

The class filled with people from her own house and then the Ravenclaws; she couldn’t remember all of their names yet. Daphne knew some of them from outside school. She leaned over, dark ponytail brushing Tracey’s shoulder.

“That girl there is one of the Patil twins. Their father went to school back in India but their mother is a Varma, they’ve all attended Hogwarts for a while. If she’s in Ravenclaw, she must be the smart one. One of them was very smart and the other rather thick. No offense. And then the boy near her – Terry - his mother’s foreign, studied at Mahoutokoro –“

“The one in China?”

“Japan. And that’s Anthony Goldstein, he’s a half-blood but his family are usually purebloods. His mother’s very frail. I’m not surprised he’s in Ravenclaw. He was the one that earned twenty points last lesson. And that one is Oliver Rivers. He’s smarmy, don’t you think so?”

“Yeah.”

By the time Daphne’s whispered commentary on the Ravenclaws finished, the class was actually beginning. Professor Flitwick perched atop a tower of trembling tomes. Tracey frowned. She couldn’t see how he could be at all confident he would’ve end up in a heap, suffocated by books as big as him. He started to explain their task for the lesson. Tracey’s eyes glazed over. She took to gnawing at her nail and watching Daphne watch Flitwick.

There were no girls like Daphne near where Tracey lived; none with her porcelain skin and delicate features, with perfect dark hair so clean and unknotted, with that walk and her tendency to sit up straight even when adults weren’t around. From the moment Tracey had seen her in the compartment on the train, she could scarcely believe someone could be that pretty. That had swayed her decision against Pansy, too. Something had burned deep in her stomach and she had known that she _needed_ to be Daphne’s friend.

Daph was talented with her quill, her letters joining up perfectly, her parchment unstained. She somehow avoided that awful scratching sound most of the time too. She hadn’t been lost once, and had skirted around Malfoy’s temper tantrums with ease. Tracey longed to be like her. Daphne didn’t bite her nails; they were perfectly manicured. Tracey pulled her fingers away from her mouth. She did her best to mimic Daphne’s posture. It hurt her back. She dived under the bench into her satchel, rummaging for parchment. She tore off a bit and grabbed her quills and inkwell too. Daphne raised her eyebrows when she surfaced.

“You should’ve had your things ready when the lesson started. It’s not so bad if we’re with the Gryffindors, but it’s the Ravenclaws. They’re open-minded about ideas but close-minded about people.” If anyone else had said that, Tracey would’ve bitten their head off. But it was good advice; it was worth taking, even if it hit her right in the pride. _I was too busy listening to you. Really, it’s your fault._ But she couldn’t blame Daphne. She didn’t have it in her.

Instead, she jotted down the last of what Flitwick said, scowling at her messy scrawl and the splatter of ink on her page and fingers. She wished she knew a cleaning charm already. Not just for her fingers. If her father knew any, he never used them, and she was sick of living in a pigsty. Already, Pansy was talking of having all the Slytherins from their year visit her house in that odd week between Christmas and New Year’s; as _if_ Tracey could ever think of that. She rested her chin in her hand, leaning towards Daphne very slightly. The other girl’s attentions were taken up entirely with their professor. Tracey turned her eyes to Flitwick, trying to focus.

_Finally._ Finally, they were going to get to use their wands. Just for a levitation charm, though. They’d been learning the theory of it for a little while. Tracey’s fingers itched. She’d never done magic before. Not intentionally. None of the other classes were teaching spells yet. Excitement rippled through the room, and even Malfoy seemed pleased.

“I hope we get to levitate each other,” Tracey told Daphne, grinning. Daphne pressed her lips together.

“Do you think we’ll be able to manage that on our first try?” she asked. “We’ll probably levitate something very light.” Tracey’s face turned glum. She rather fancied learning to send someone flying. It’d be funny on Crabbe or Goyle. Daphne patted her shoulder. “At least we’re still learning magic, Tracey.”

“Yeah,” Tracey said, swallowing her disappointment. She’d still be able to do more than she ever had before.

“Get your wands out, now! And remember; swish and flick! And be very precise with your pronunciation. Win- _gar_ -di-um Lev-i- _o-_ sa. Say it with me.”

“Win- _gar-_ di-um Lev-i- _o-_ sa!” the class chanted back. Flitwick clapped his hands excitedly. Tracey joined the others in retrieving their wands from their bags. Her pulse surged when she held it in her hand. She gave it a small wave, and a few golden sparks shimmered from its tip. She beamed. Daphne had her wand in hand, too. It was slimmer than Tracey’s, and was carved in a constant curl, like a ringlet, sort of. Its wood was dark. It was very pretty, for a wand, and made Tracey’s feel fat and practical, more of a branch than a magical tool. Tracey jabbed it at the air. It sparked red.

“Tracey,” Daphne said sharply.

“Sorry, Daph,” Tracey said, stomach curling. Daphne looked at her askew. Tracey narrowed her eyes in return. Daphne held her look for a moment, and then laughed. Tracey flushed. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“What, Daph?”

“Are you saying I’m a liar?”

“What?”

“Girls.” Professor Flitwick was in front of them, head just reaching above the desk. “One for each of you.” Tracey took one of the feathers. They were a clean, fine white, so neat that she might’ve thought they were quills if not for the missing nib. So _that_ was what they were levitating. Not nearly as exciting as Goyle. She frowned at him across the classroom, watching him scratch his greasy hair.

“Thank you, Professor Flitwick,” Daphne said, in that silky voice of hers. She spoke like a princess. She looked like a princess, too. Tracey’s dad always said if someone looked and sounded like something, they probably were. If they wore dirty clothes and reeked of alcohol and swore too much, they were probably a friend of her dad’s. Daphne was probably a princess. Or meant to be one. Maybe she’d marry a prince from Europe or something when she got older. The thought oddly chilled her. They’d only known each other a few weeks, but she was closer to Tracey than anyone really ever had been. Tracey couldn’t see how she’d get through Hogwarts without her. Where would she be sitting now? With Millicent Bulstrode, by Pansy? Eugh. Pass. And if Daphne went off to Europe to be some pureblood princess, what would Tracey do as an adult? Work? Probably, but that sucked. She’d just go to work every day and come home and read the paper to see if Daph was mentioned in there, like how her dad did with Princess Fergie. Her dad reckoned he could marry Fergie if he wanted, and if they ever met in a pub, she’d become Tracey’s stepmother. Tracey couldn’t imagine having sisters, and definitely not royal ones. But it was all stupid anyways; nobody would be dumb enough to marry her dad.

“Thanks, Professor,” Tracey added.

“Good luck, girls,” Professor Flitwick said cheerfully, before bumbling along to the next group. Daphne set her feather down on the bench, and Tracey copied her.

“Do we just – start?” Tracey asked, looking around. The Patil girl had got her textbook out and examined it closely. Nott had his feather in front of him, but stared out the window instead of doing anything with it. Zabini jabbed his wand at his feather, shooting sparks.

“I suppose so. Swish and flick, isn’t it?” Daphne adjusted her grip, and then very carefully swished her wand, before flicking her wrist. She frowned. “I think it needs to be more fluid than that.”

“Right,” Tracey said, rolling her wand with her fingers. Swish and flick; fluid. She inhaled deeply, and then tried the movement. The momentum sent her arm flying; her gesture was so big she nearly hit Daphne in the face. Daphne jumped back. Pansy Parkinson snorted. “Damn it,” Tracey scowled.

“Maybe not so big,” Daphne said delicately. Again, it was just advice, but it stung. If Pansy had said it, Tracey would’ve told her to sod off.

“Yep,” Tracey said instead. She tried again. Her swish dipped a lot lower than others’. _Damn it._ Daphne practised the wand movement for a second time. It was very small and neat; precise. Like her wand, like her hair, like her words. Daphne was the prettiest girl in their whole year and probably one of the cleverest too. Tracey wondered if sitting next to her made the shine rub off on her, or if it just made her look duller.

“I’ll try with the incantation, now,” Daphne told her. Tracey nodded, cradling her face in her palms, and watched. Daphne straightened up – which Tracey hadn’t thought was possible, given how perfect her posture was already – and cleared her throat. She looked right at the feather.

“Win _gar_ dium Levi _o_ sa,” she said clearly, swishing her wand a little, and flicking it carefully. The wand quivered. Tracey started.

“It moved!” she exclaimed. “You made it move!” Had anyone else’s moved yet? Surely not. Daphne had to have been the first. A hint of pink crept onto the other girl’s cheeks.

“I didn’t levitate it,” she said, looking past Tracey. Tracey shook her head, still astounded.

“That doesn’t matter, you were great! You made it move. It definitely moved. I saw it move.”

“Trace,” Daphne said, laughing slightly. Tracey stilled. Daphne hadn’t called her that before. It was what her dad called her. Her heart felt all funny.

“Daph,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. Daphne gave her a small smile, and dropped her eyes.

“I’ll try again,” Daphne said. Tracey nodded eagerly. Daphne cleared her throat once more, and focused on the white feather. Tracey shuddered in anticipation. What if Daphne did it this time? Maybe she’d be the first in their whole year.

“Win _gar_ dium Levi _o_ sa,” Daphne said again, and her swish was broader than the last time. The feather shook furiously, as though trying to fight a dragon to reach the air. Tracey gushed. It was exhilarating, seeing Daphne using her wand and make things move with her magic. Tracey grew breathless. She held her own wand in her hand, but didn’t try herself; she fixated entirely on Daphne’s efforts. Daphne’s pale cheeks burned with colour the more she tried. A cheer came up from the back of the room – Anthony Goldstein had done it. Daphne’s face fell.

“Oh, who cares about him?” Tracey grumbled, glaring at the pleased Ravenclaw boy. “You can still be the first Slytherin. And the first girl.”

“Malfoy will do it before me,” Daphne said, looking across to that stupid blond weasel.

“Don’t be stupid, we can’t let him,” Tracey said. “Come on, Daph. You can do it. I know you can.” Tracey didn’t know how she knew, not really – she hadn’t even tried the spell herself – but she believed in Daphne.

Daphne kept trying, and Tracey tried to figure out what worked and what didn’t, based on how much the feather moved depending on what Daph did. Another Ravenclaw boy got it, presumably with Anthony helping him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tracey promised. “Come on. You can get it by the end of class.” Daphne looked wilted; very pretty, but tired. Tracey wondered if she should have a go yet. She didn’t want to end up like Crabbe, though; Malfoy and Pansy were both laughing loudly at his attempts to lift the feather into the air, with his swinging arms and his wand accidentally being thrown across the room most times he tried. She could get Daphne to help her outside of class. If Daphne got it, she’d get it. Daphne had a better chance at being the first girl in the year to get it than Tracey did.

“The textbook says to focus on your intent and stuff, doesn’t it? Just sort of imagine it being in the air. You’ll get it this time, Daph. Promise.”

“You promise?” Daphne asked sharply, squinting. Tracey swallowed. Daphne sighed, and got into her casting position again. She waited a moment longer than Tracey expected. Then, she swished and flicked.

“Win _gar_ dium Levi _o_ sa.”

The feather lifted an inch from the bench.

Tracey gasped, and promptly clapped her hands over her mouth. She couldn’t be a distraction. Daphne’s eyes didn’t leave the feather. She flicked her wrist again, and the feather rose another inch. And another. With each flick, its height increased. At about a foot and a half, it began to shake. Daphne’s face twitched. Her knuckles went white. She flicked downwards. The feather dropped, and Daphne ended the spell.

Tracey burst.

“You did it! You did it!” she shrieked, and threw her arms around Daphne. “You did it!” Only when she shouted into Daphne’s shoulder did she remember that they hadn’t hugged before. She was suddenly aware of the softness of Daphne’s robes, and the dark hair tickling her forehead. Tracey’s face heated. _I’m allowed to hug my friend,_ she thought, but her heart raced. She pulled back. She’d messed Daphne’s hair.

“I did it,” Daphne said, stunned.

“Well done, well done, Miss Greengrass!” Professor Flitwick applauded, and the other Slytherins crowded around, even Pansy, who looked rather mad. Daphne glowed with pride. Tracey grabbed the feather and waved it in the air like a victory flag, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. Daphne had done it. Tracey felt as proud as if she’d done it herself, for some weird reason; maybe it was because she’d helped.

When the crowd dispersed, Daphne smiled at her. “Thank you, Tracey. I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said. Tracey’s stomach fluttered. Weird. She hesitated, and then hugged Daphne again. This time, Daphne hugged her back, an arm around her, and Tracey’s heart pounded. It was probably because she smelled really nice, like vanilla, and because Tracey wasn’t used to hugs. That was it. She pulled away, and resolved that she probably shouldn’t hug Daphne anymore if it was going to give her a heart attack.

But she could definitely smile at her, head and heart feather-light.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this is romantic enough to count, because it's meant to be the start of Tracey's crush on Daphne :)


End file.
